someone broke into my house
yours is mine too
someone broke into my house and tried to steal my furniture she said they were hers shocked was an understatement I felt goosebumps rise like porcupine hairs on my arms I told her, I got them with my two cents she stared back, confused and I said you know that doesn’t make any sense right how can you be in my house telling me what's mine is yours? but maybe just maybe I was more wrong than right, right come to think of it isn’t that life? my story is yours and yours is mine where my reality doesn't just get tangled with yours but that my breath and yours are both mist on the same mirror your victory, the fuel telling me that mine is near too isn’t that really life where we all face the same things grief. insecurity. fear. if we don't ever step in each other's living rooms slipping our fingers over the mahogany wooden desk in that right corner or lean back on the cold couch that spills secrets will we ever realize we're more alike than different I was there but... God story have knocked on our doors too I can't help but think your story is mine and mine is yours.
Heart Call:
Our stories are are similar. They say I was there in that pit, but God…
when was the last time you shared your testimony with someone?
Photo Credits: Katja Rooke